You tell that you've got ev'rything you want,
And your bird can sing,
But you don't get me,
You don't get me.
The once and future Virgatore stared out the window while her hands deftly fastened a holster in place, then reached into the duffel, pulled out a knife in a sheathe and buckled that onto her leg. One by one she reattached her weapons, feeling
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